


There's Nothing in The Darkness That You Need

by SagaNoren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, CoL erasure, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, it's nothing too bad just wanna be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 22:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SagaNoren/pseuds/SagaNoren
Summary: Starts at the end of 2.16 with the return from Mount Weather. Abby tries to comfort Marcus after he breaks down, unaware of how much his past still haunts him.  Written from Marcus' pov.





	There's Nothing in The Darkness That You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally inspired by the lyrics of James Blunt's Carry You Home.

Her scream is stuck in his head. A flashing red light of pain and hurting. The power of watching someone as strong as Abby be so forcibly broken has violently taken place in his bones. He knows he would have carried her home in his own arms if necessary. Instead he stays by her side, holding her hand. Every time he looks at her and sees the deep brown in her eyes a wave of relief washes over him. _She survived_. They keep walking, Abby’s hand in his, until they step through the gates of Arkadia with the circular silhouette of the Ark towering over them in the dawn of a new day.

A wan smile tugs at his lips when he imagines this scenario without Abby being on a stretcher. Her voice would rise above the insecure, nervous muttering of the people, ordering everyone who knows someone in need of medical assistance to help them to the medbay. Because Abby understands - people need people - she always has. Now Abby is the one who needs medical attention and her firm, hope-inducing voice is simply a ghost in his mind.

Jackson isn’t and a relieved sight escapes both when he yells out her name and comes running through the crowd. Marcus wants to stay with her but the people are growing increasingly anxious. So, when she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and tells him she’ll be fine he reluctantly lets her hand slip out of his.

He’s doesn’t trust his voice to rise above the muttering and shuffling group of people without breaking right now so instead he quickly gathers a group of guards. After a while they’ve gotten everyone who’s injured to medical and the rest to the mess hall where they’re now waiting for their first meal to put distance between now and what happen in Mount Weather. He knows that he should stay and help somehow, get something to eat, but he’s finding it harder and harder to breathe so instead he ends up in the chancellor’s quarters by himself.

When he’s finally in solitude everything comes crashing over him like a raging sea. All the bitter regret, the self-loathing, the maddening helplessness he can’t seem to shake even now that the chains are gone. Now that she’s safe again. He slams his fist into the metal wall with a short loud scream. Then he does it again and again and again, allowing the pain to drain the anger and frustration from his chest, allowing him to breathe again. And he keeps going until his body stops him, forcing him on his knees in exhaustion. When he buries his face in his hands blood colours the involuntary tears that are finding their way down his face.                                          

The anger went away as the pain came cursing through him, blistering hot, destroying everything on its path. Now that it’s retreating something new takes place in his body alongside the violence that he witnessed.

A hollow feeling settles like fog over a forest floor when the night turns cold.

After a while footsteps resound in the hallway. He quickly jumps up startled by the sounds that jerk him out of his hazy state. He tries to wipe away the blood but there’s too much, and he’s starting to panic. He had been too far gone to properly understand the damage he was doing to himself.  There’s a throbbing pain throughout his hand and wrist.  He prays that nothing is broken, but doesn’t dare to move the wrist or fingers yet.

Then Abby is already appearing in the doorway. He’s standing in her gaze like a deer caught in headlights, wild and frightened. She’s putting all her weight on one leg while using crutches carved from wood to keep her balance. At least half a day must have passed. He lost track.

“Are you okay?” his throat is dry and the words come out hoarse and low.

Her eyes flicker from the dent in the wall to his bloody hand and finally rests on his face.

“No,” she whispers in a hollow voice, “get me the med kit it’s on the third shelf, I need to sit.”

He doesn’t have to explain, somehow, she understands.

She hobbles into the room and grabs his shoulder to help herself onto the edge of the table. His body tenses at her touch but he doesn’t move away. He’s about to tell her that it’s fine but it’s obviously not and he knows Abby - there’s no way he’s persuading her to get some rest before she gets to look at his hand, so he gets the med kit while trying to convince himself it’s to get her to rest and not because the pain is getting worse. He feels like an idiot.

“Marcus, your hand?”

He can’t look at her, certain that his cheeks are turning crimson from embarrassment. He’s made a complete fool of himself.

“I know you don’t want me to touch you right now, I know you’re upset, but I need to clean your wounds and make sure nothing is broken.”

Her voice is tender. She’s here, trying to help _him_ , when he should be one taking care of _her._ He’s awestruck by her strength. None of those thoughts turn into words, he just gives her his hand. She starts cleaning the wounds in the dim lightning, slowly and carefully. After a while he starts shaking under her touch, and he tries his hardest to hold back the tears but he’s exhausted and she’s being so gentle. She stops for a moment and swallows hard. He can tell she’s fighting her own tears and he would’ve given anything to have the right words for her, but right now he’s certain whatever words he has will only make matters worse. She takes a deep, cleansing breath before she speaks.

“I won’t know for sure until tomorrow, but you might have a wrist fracture” she applies gentle pressure to different spots on his wrist causing him to wince, “you could’ve come to me Marcus. You’re not alone anymore, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry…”

He truly is sorry he didn’t mean to become a burden for her on a day like this. The stubborn Abby he knows probably insisted on helping in medical, even if it was while sitting down. Still his demons are his own to tame. She finishes up and bandages his hand creating a sudden tension between them when neither moves.

“Do you want me to hold you?” she talks in a faint voice, almost hesitant as if her words might scare him off.

If only she wouldn’t be so soft, if she could just yell at him maybe then the world would make sense again.

“It’s fine Abby, you don’t need to,” the words come out all wrong as if he’s angry at her. He’s angry at himself. At half the world. Why does he keep taking all the wrong steps?

“What if I could use a hug?” she lowers her eyes to where they drilled her leg, unfazed by the anger in his words.

The answer is there’s nothing he wants more than to wrap his arms around her tiny frame and protect her from the entire world. However, he can’t help but feel like all the darkness inside him will taint her if he did. That she’s not his to protect and comfort. That maybe all he’s capable of is hurting her.

“I’m sorry, Abby. I just…” the words trail off.

He doesn’t have the words to explain and maybe he doesn’t have the courage either. She just gives him an understanding nod. If she had asked again, he thinks, he would have put his arms around her and never let go. He didn’t mean for this to turn into such a mess. He curses himself for having lost control.  

“Would you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

She gets down from the table, without his help this time, forcing him to step backwards and the tension between them dissipates.

“Of course,” he answers quickly, “let me get you a blanket.”

 After Abby has made herself comfortable on the couch he shuts the blinds to keep out the last of the daylight, an odd luxury in their new, beautiful but rough world, torn from the sky the day they were too. She shifts under the blanket for a while trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt with her injured leg. He sits with her until she finally falls asleep. Then he gets up to go eat in the mess hall, tuning in the doorway to look at her one last time.

 “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you…” his words disappear into the night that has arrived, way up to a metal box in the sky where he had once been a different man. Way into her foggy, ashy dreams of tall, dead trees.

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly an intro chapter.


End file.
